Why a house full of pickles, you ask?
When we were officially a couple, soon to be
wed, our close friends started to combine our surnames - one Gillis, one Perkins, and you
get Gerkins. Over the year we resisted being
named after tiny pickled cucumbers, but
eventually, these things stick.
And now we are three.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

He's still a little inconsistent in the first two, it's not one of his primary interests. Those remain eating and using his legs. But he started directing fingers to his mouth over the weekend and then, when he was in his car seat on the way back from Moncton, we heard him squeak his Sophie Giraffe a couple of times, and when I looked back, he was happily gnawing on an ear. Go baby!

Then tonight I had him on my lap, as I often do, nursing him through his evening cluster feed, and he was done eating, but not done sucking, so he went to sleep sucking on my finger. And once he was well and truly sleeping, I thought he might as well sleep in his bed as on my lap, so he could practice sleeping on his own. Anyway, he slept all the way up the stairs, but the little blue eyes blinked open as I set him in his bed.

But since we'd come that far, and since he'd been so god with his thumb sucking lately, I just took a few steps back to see if he would settle or cry. And he flailed around a little, made a few fussy noises, but seemed relaxed enough, so I came back downstairs. John checked on him after a few minutes, and he was sucking his thumb. So I brushed the cat, and then went up to shower, and looked in on the baby - passed out cold.

Awesome.

In other news, Michael Jackson has died. And Farah Fawcett too. Good heavens! Where are the 80s going?

Sunday, June 14, 2009

To begin, a list of words Owen has accidentally uttered:uh-ohoh nonowmadadmamgu (Welsh for grandmother)nah

This game amuses us.

Every new thing he learns - a new way to make a sound, a new way to move, means he loses something else. There are no more adorable goat noises these days, and a lot more whining and cooing and happy squeals. The devastating newborn wail is gone, too, which is nice, and the shrieking stage (the first of several, I'm sure) was mercifully brief.

I won't say that the distinction between his cries isn't welcome, even if a lot of them are seriously whiny now. But I miss the bleating, and treasure it when it escapes from a deep-sleeping baby.

Yesterday, at an Old Man Luedeke matinee, of all places, we ran into another couple we'd met once or twice at a mutual friend's, with their two-week-old son. It was such an incredible wave of nostalgia... nostalgia for two months ago, of all things. I held him for a minute, and smelled his head, and could understand, for a brief flash, why people have more than one (this is not apparent in the months directly after childbirth.)

I want Owen to learn things that will make him happier - sucking his thumb is a first step on being able to bring things to his mouth, which will open up the wonderful world of toys, and it's great that he'll lie still and look at things for longer and longer periods - but also want him to stay a tiny baby in some ways.

I hear this sort of thing never really goes away, once you start down this road.